Lotus
by xShocked
Summary: Syndrome claims what is rightfully his in the only way he knows how. The only way he needs. Re-Invention of Lolita Tides' "I'll take you Home to the Lotus Eaters." Synlet.


**A/N- **Hey everyone, just a small side-project for me in between working on chapters of my own Incredibles fic 'Eviscerate' (Please check it out when you get the time!). This is a re-make, or rather a re-interpretation of my good friend Lolita Tides' fic "_I'll send you Home to the Lotus Eaters_", which you may have already read. I thank her so much for the awesome skeleton that I could flesh out, and for letting me butcher her original idea!

I need to let everyone know beforehand that this isn't a fluffy love fic; it's dark and extremely explicit, both violently and sexually, on par with most of my other work. If you don't like that kind of thing, you should turn back now. Please take the moment to review if you enjoy this. It'd make me very, very happy.

–xShocked

* * *

**LOTUS****  
**Remake of the story 'I'll send you home to the Lotus Eaters' by Lolita Tides.

_  
She's no Saint,  
But she'll take you to your knees.  
Try her boy, but she'll still do as she please.  
Do you believe in Science? She's perfect Chemistry._

She wanted my love, but I gave her the rest of me.

* * *

He had been away from her for too long. After all these years he knew the feeling when it appeared and there was no denying what he felt at that moment. His skin flushed with blood beneath the freckled facade and he found himself scratching up and down the lengths of his arms, willing to release the pressure of the substance rushing through his veins. Only she could release that unbearable pressure. It was maddening. He needed her.

The hall ended abruptly in a large iron door. A gel pad sat obediently and glowing red in its centre and he stumbled toward it in his haste and a brief moment of weakness, holding his palm gently against the red light. It seemed to ponder his microchip for an eon and he found himself cursing his own invention with inward venom. The red finally faded to a brilliant green and the soft creak of the automatic door announced his approval. He composed himself, hoping to God that the soft flush of his cheeks had faded before she saw him.

Light flooded the tiny room beyond the door and then he'd seen her. She'd been wearing the pretty dress with the camisole straps and floating hemline that he'd given her years ago; his favourite. She was curled in the corner, legs tightly pressed to her chest as she scratched them mercilessly with long nails; he could take in the large, ugly welts forming along the pale lengths. The straps of her dress were falling across her bare shoulders, collecting in the hollows of her collarbones along with her pretty black hair. The lace of the hem skimmed her upper thigh suggestively. The dress was red; his favourite colour. Nothing suited her any better.

"What are you up to, Sweetheart?" he finally mustered from the back of his throat. It was louder than he had expected and he was glad. She looked up to him and her beautiful eyes shone with adoration through drying, stale tears. She tipped herself forward, crawling toward him on her knees. She was gorgeous on her knees. He felt butterflies spring from the pit of his gut.

"Waiting for you, Master." Her voice was silky and low though he could still detect the distinct tremor within its tones. He knew that she was in desperate need of the drug. It had been days now and he was surprised that she was still veiled from reality at all. He watched as she crawled to his booted feet, sitting upright and allowing the crown of her hair to brush ever so slightly against his upper thigh. Even through the thick material of his trousers he could still take in the light tickle against his bare skin. How dare she tease him like this? She was his; she should not be the one to tease.

She had bowed her head low to kiss his boots when he struck out in anger. His left boot hit her square in the jaw and she was sent forcefully reeling backward, hitting her shoulders awkwardly against the smooth concrete wall at the back of the cell. Her head made a sickening thump as it connected and he grinned widely as he heard her cry out in anguish. She slumped against the dirty wall, brows furrowing as she held tightly to her head, her free hand scratching obsessively at the swelling on her bare legs. It was a habit that he had seen her acquire over time from her scrambled brain and although it was ruining her beautiful body with scars and constantly reddened welts, he found it rather cute. From beneath the masking curtain of her long hair, he saw that blood was seeping from a new wound. The delicate droplets collected on the soft curve of her chin, growing fat before dripping deftly onto the lap of her gorgeous dress. They disappeared then.

"I've brought you something," he said, seemingly oblivious to her intense pain. She looked up through her untidy mass of hair and he saw the source of the blood was from a large split in her perfect lower lip. The wound was still welling furiously with the life giving substance, forming a constant rivulet to the point of her chin. Her lips were almost as red as the blood itself. And her beautiful dress...

"Lotus?" Her voice rung weak in his ears but her eyes screamed hope as through the pain she managed to crawl back toward him. She seemed to be having trouble with her shoulders, perhaps from the knock, and she winced lightly with every faltering movement to her arms. Her blood painted perfect droplets on the grey concrete beneath her and he found himself aroused. Red was so becoming of her. He nodded finally to her question, finding that he dared not speak a single word for fear of revealing his unabashed desire. A small moan protruded from her bleeding lips and he felt a cold shudder pass over his body.

With much difficulty she finally reached his booted feet once more. She allowed a pale, tremoring hand to reach up to his torso; it brushed against his stomach, taking its time in sensually skimming down his shirted frame until it gently fingered across the cold metal of his belt buckle. She touched it gingerly, curling her bloodied fingers around the shining silver.

"Shall I beg for it?" She purred. Her wide, innocent eyes turned up to his. Her voice and her body read desire and there was no denying that, but those eyes... they seemed to read something else. There was something beneath them that caused him great unease and he was unsure exactly why. Did she really... want him?

Her hands shifted and brushed themselves across him, just below where his belt buckle had been fastened in. He took a sharp intake of breath as his body stirred under her touch and at once had forgotten where his thoughts had been carrying him. He leaned over her knelt frame, brushing the blood carefully from the open wound on her lip. Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned in to his touch. He found his own eye line turning upward as he prompted her milky hands to unfasten his trousers.

"Yes, you shall."

He shuddered as she wasted no time in exposing his unabashed lust to the room, obediently allowing her bloodied mouth to part for him. He tenderly brushed the stunning long hair from her face, holding it possessively in his left hand as he impelled her movements against him. He shifted her forcefully as he desired and she allowed it, her eyes latched tight closed although not tight enough to prevent a fat tear from splashing across the flat of her cheek. He felt the warm wetness against his skin and it bothered him. Too bad she was so beautiful, or he might have had to punish her for it.

When he was finished he extracted himself and discarded her. She fell heavily to the floor, coughing and spluttering violently as he nonchalantly belted his trousers. She wiped furiously at her cheeks, her trembling hands scraping at the blood and fluid that dared to cling there. Her eyes turned up to his, the violet hue shining with tears as she desperately anticipated her reward for the act. He smiled at her, a wide and genuine smile, and she smiled back to him as the sheen of a tear gathered itself in the corner of her eye and fell. He rolled his own, reaching deep into his pocket and producing five small white pills. He rolled them in the palm of his hands playfully. They were chalky and uniform, each stamped with a small cursive 'L' on both sides.

"Here, poppet," he had regained his flailing confidence and his voice had been sharp and sardonic. She seemed to recognise the difference and crawled toward him just as he tossed the pills to the dirty floor. They scattered in all directions and she scrabbled after them in desperation, scraping her legs across the rough floor as she swallowed them all dry. It didn't take long for the effects to take hold of her frame and barely a minute after she'd swallowed the last pill and collapsed to the floor in anticipation, a wave of euphoria had spread across her. He watched intently, mildly aroused, as she writhed under the tight hold of the drug, her beautiful hair sprawling across the grey of the concrete and the dried blood accentuating the full lips in which moans of ecstasy were protruding.

He waited patiently against the flooding backlight of the doorway as her elated seizures eventually subsided. She was left lying in the folds of her lacy red dress, panting softly and murmuring incomprehensible mumblings beneath her breath. Her left arm was scratching heavily at the right, pinpricks of blood lining the angry scores that had settled there. He didn't think he had ever seen her look more beautiful than at that moment. Her servicing was not nearly enough. He had to have her.

Reaching to the back of his belt, he retrieved a glowing pair of electrocuffs, unfastening them deftly in his experienced and very impatient hands. He leaned over her and attached the cuffs to her tiny wrists. She did not resist, merely rolled to her side in a seemingly drunken stupor, muttering incoherently as her eyes fluttered toward his. He found himself scooping her into his arms and her slight frame felt bony and feather-light in his firm grip. She was probably too light for it to be healthy, but he'd always liked his women skinny and to him she was perfect. Her head lolled heavily into his shoulder, her bloodied and cuffed arms curling against his chest. He took in the gentle brushing of her nails on his clavicle as she fumbled to find balance in her daze; it brought a shudder of desire to the curve of his spine.

He carried her carefully into an adjacent room; one he fondly referred to as "the torture chamber". It was a room smaller than her holding cell yet held the same texture and bland grey of concrete. It consisted simply of a messy fold-out bed, a shelf and a single long meat hook hanging boldly in the very centre of the room. He'd always liked dramatics, and he'd spared no expense for her. He looked down to the girl in his arms; her eyes were fluttering deliriously beneath the curtain of tangled hair; the black clashed perfectly with the milky whiteness of her skin. Where had she gotten such perfect hair?

He hauled her to the middle of the room, stroking the strands from her face before lifting her hands to the large meat hook. The electrocuffs slipped over it easily and he stepped away, allowing gravity to pull her frame straight. Her head slumped weakly to the side and a string of murmurings poured from her lips, though this time a few of the words seemed to make some form of sense. He stepped back, taking a second to admire her as she hung there. Her long, agile limbs seemed to stretch forever and though they were marred with angry scratches and dried blood, her pale skin still glowed luminous in the minimal light. The dress was cinched in at her tiny waist, accentuating how very miniscule she really was. It swung lightly with her unbalanced movements, the lace of the hemline just barely skimming the top of her knees. He felt the stir of arousal within him as he took in her perfect, soft lines. He noticed that she had been chewing her lip while he'd been gazing at her; the scabbing wound had been split open again and blood had begun to spill across her chin in fat drops. She was regaining a little lucidity and the initial effect of the drug was wearing down. She seemed to be able to lift her head to face him. Her eyes gazed intently as he took in the curves of her frame. He wanted to see them all.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a midnight blue felt pouch. Fumbling in uncharacteristic clumsiness, he managed to extract a small, sterile surgical scalpel. He strode toward her, allowing his willing and hungry fingers to trace the outline of her face, falling down to the curve of her neck and lingering in the deep hollows that her protruding collarbones caused. A small sigh released itself from her lips, and he brought the scalpel up to the camisole straps of her dress. He wanted more of her. In a deft movement he had severed them, allowing the chiffon to slide effortlessly across the curvature of her body and to the floor. A flood of opaque skin filled his vision and he couldn't help but reach out and slide a ravenous hand over it, tracing itself across the slight swell of her breasts, down to her tiny hips. She writhed under his touch. Blood had begun to spill from her chin and spotted across the unblemished skin of her chest, painting it in brilliant droplets of crimson. She looked down to it and giggled lightly, a warm and slightly foolish grin curling her stunning lips. It brought a nauseous wave of desire to his consciousness.

"I've come up with a new game for us to play tonight," he murmured close to her ear, holding the scalpel in her line of vision. Its hermetic blade shone brilliantly in the low light of the room, and her eyes widened as she took it in.

"Ooh..." her voice crackled, seemingly impressed by his new toy. He placed a firm hand on her shoulder; it was so large and her shoulder so small that it became completely enveloped. He took in the feeling of bone shuddering under his rigid grip. He was positively aching for her, but he knew that he must wait. Good things always came to those who waited and he'd always tried to remind himself of that.

"Yes, that's what I thought," he grinned, allowing his hand to curl tighter over her smooth shoulder. Her sweet smile melted to a wince of pain and his grin grew wider at the pleasure he derived from seeing it. He looked down to her perfect chest, taking a smooth breath deep into his lungs before bringing the scalpel down on her radiant skin, tracing a light, long line beneath the curve of her left breast. The scalpel split her skin like a knife through melted butter and tiny beads of blood began to well to the surface. Her breath took a sharp intake, her head lolling sluggishly upward.

"Hurt?" he asked, though not in concern for her comfort. Her head fell forward once more and their gazes met. She smiled, but her beautiful eyes didn't.

"Yes! Oh yes, it hurts!" and although she had giggled and grinned he could see deep in those eyes, leagues below the surface, that miserable desperation that he could never rid her of. Perhaps that is what he was forever cursed to see in her eyes; nothing but misery and desperation. Perhaps that was all she felt with him beneath the effects of the Lotus, beneath her own simple human lust. Through his desire for her, a deep vein of anger throbbed furiously.

He brought the scalpel down on her hip, allowing the blade to enter further and cutting a neat and very deep incision across a considerable length of her stomach. Her body twisted furiously under the blade and she cried out for a second time; in this one he distinctly heard pain. Fresh blood flowed sluggishly from the long wound, spilling over the jut of her hip bone and soaking the side of the pretty black panties with the red bows he had brought her for her birthday. He laughed good naturedly, touching gently at the crimson. It was warm and comforting to his touch. She laughed in unison, but again her tear-marbled eyes did not.

It didn't take long before he had developed a taste for the game and his cuts had become progressively violent; drawing deep, vicious hollows of blood across her body. Though at first she had laughed and cooed as he slipped the scalpel beneath her skin, with every slice her cries grew darker, her body twisted further from him and those eyes- her beautiful, honest eyes- they revealed more. There were times, he knew, when the drug, as powerful as it was, was not enough to mask the pain he was causing her. Though their times were rare, they seemed to be happening more and more as her body became interdependent on the Lotus. He supposed that she had reached that threshold of pain today, and the chaos that ensued was always his favourite part of the foreplay.

"Daddy! DADDY!" she screamed pitifully after he slid the blade along her collarbone. He'd misjudged and cut too deep. The tissue seemed to pull away, exposing a large spurting of blood and a dirty whiteness that he supposed was not just her skin anymore. He laughed, tracing his fingers through the gushing red river he had created.

"Daddy can't help you now, Pumpkin," was his bemused reply as he let out another sharp, short bark of laugher. She had begun to sob in immense pain and the tears splashed across her bloodied clavicle, diluting the red that stained her skin there. Her blood had begun to pool on the floor and though he supposed he could have continued until there was no longer an inch of perfect skin to tear, he knew that if he continued her body may very well shut down, and that was not what he wanted. He dropped the scalpel and it fell to the floor; drops of her blood to flecked over his shiny patent shoes. He cursed; he was quite hoping to keep them clean.

He touched her reddened skin, gingerly at first but finding he liked the warm wetness of her blood on his hands he continued with further vigour, an uncontrollable smirk lighting his face for every time she cried out. He traced his hand along her heavily bleeding collarbone- by far the worst of her injuries- and she squealed inconsolably in agony. As he pulled roughly at the clotting blood he could most definitely take in the smooth curve and dirty whiteness of her exposed bone, along with the welling pink of inner tissue. By this time, she had begun to cry heavily. Deep sobs racked her lungs and with a lingering glide he removed his fingers from the perfect wound, moving behind her and touching lightly at the curve of her neck. Her body squirmed beneath his touch, seemingly repulsed, and the sobs drew from her frame with further vigour. He allowed his hands to slide over the curve of her waist, moving down to her panties and allowing himself to pull them away. Despite her aching sobs she did not struggle and once he had skimmed them across the curve of her thighs they fell uselessly to the ground, immediately soaking in the splashes of blood that ran across her feet.

"I love it when you cry, Baby," he heaved breathily into her ear as he unfastened his trousers. It was true. He supposed there was nothing more beautiful than her shining, tear-stained eyes when she cried. And the sounds she made as her breath caught pitifully in the back of her throat! Oh, it was heaven to his ears. Her thick curtain of hair swung in time to her nods, and the stifled sobs continued.

"Tony never liked seeing me cry," she hiccoughed between her irregular breaths. He could tell from her facade, her voice, that the veil was once more falling over her perception, and the drug was slowly but surely gaining its deeper form of control on her. He stroked her ribcage, counting the deep hollows they made against her skin and she writhed painfully. Allowing his face to fall deep into the curve of her neck, he delighted in an enduring breath of her distinct, perfect scent. Even through the metallic blood and her immense pain, she still smelled as beautiful as she ever had.

"I know, I know. But Tony's gone now, taken care of. He'll never take you away from me," he purred. "Away from the Lotus." He placed his large hands firmly on the bones of her petite hips, almost able to encircle them completely. Sucking in a heavy breath of anticipation, he pulled her slight frame toward him. He was met with no struggle; her limp form allowing him to manipulate her as he wished. He forced himself into her and although it was resoundingly difficult, the blood collecting on the crevices of her body served well as an assistant. She let out a sharp cry of pain as he strained her hips downward violently. He himself let out a small exclamation of pleasure as their bodies entwined completely. Although his sharp thrusts caused her breath to hitch miserably in her throat, it was not long before her veil seemed fully sealed and once again it was the Lotus that he made love to.

"I love you," she panted heavily as he slid his hands over the smoothness of her hips; the blood that clung there becoming tacky and sticking like honey to his fingers. The butterflies returned to his gut and he found the compassion to place an earnest and gentle kiss to the space between her shoulder and neck.

"I love you too, Violet," he tenderly replied, knowing very well it was the only truth in the world he truly believed in.

* * *

**A/N-** The song quoted at the top of this fic is "_Dance, Dance, Christa Paffgen_" by a lovely little band named Anberlin. Thanks once again to Lolita Tides for letting me do this. Go and read her awesome original to this story right now! And if you've gotten to the end of this fic, take the minute to review! Please!


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